


Afterimages

by roasthoney



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-29
Updated: 2013-07-29
Packaged: 2017-12-21 18:06:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/903261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roasthoney/pseuds/roasthoney
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn dreams of green. A green so familiar, so pale, he can't quite figure out where the color's from like a word balancing on the tip of his tongue. When he closes his eyes there's always a flash of green before the dark overtakes him and swallows it up, unforgiving and unavoidable; Zayn isn't sure if he wants to save the color, fearful of the day it'll fade out of his memory like the old photos of his grandfather that have turned a dirty yellow, or run away from the way his stomach twists every time he sees it. </p><p>Or, when Zayn and Harry sleep together but not in that way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Afterimages

**Author's Note:**

> Fluffy, self indulgent, first attempt at Zarry fic. Link is up on my tumblr if you'd like to reblog it. Enjoy!

Zayn dreams of green. A green so familiar, so pale, he can't quite figure out where the color's from like a word balancing on the tip of his tongue. When he closes his eyes there's always a flash of green before the dark overtakes him and swallows it up, unforgiving and unavoidable; Zayn isn't sure if he wants to save the color, fearful of the day it'll fade out of his memory like the old photos of his grandfather that have turned a dirty yellow, or run away from the way his stomach twists every time he sees it. 

Today is the sixth morning in a row. Zayn's tangled up in the sheets and he can feel the light sheen of sweat coating his skin from a night of tossing and turning. The jarring noise of his phone alarm chases away the last dregs of sleep left and he shakes his head, messy hair brushing his eyes, as if he can shake away the thoughts in his head that are begging for him to go back to sleep. It's becoming harder and harder to chase away the blur of green beneath his eyelids after he wakes up; he has a new morning ritual now, one where he lays in bed for a few more seconds, minutes, staring with his eyes closed. 

A sigh and he's finally crawling out of bed before he makes them all late. Zayn can always catch a nap in the car ride there - he always does. His reputation as a notorious power napper is a hard earned one and Zayn knows that the boys don't mind when he dozes off with his head on their shoulders. They know how much he loves to sleep and how hard it can be for him to get how many hours he needs on their busy schedule but when Zayn walks down to meet them for breakfast Liam looks more concerned than usual. 

(Usually it's mild with a touch of sternness when Liam remarks on how late he went to bed because _someone_ wanted to watch the telly for a few hours. Zayn in turn reminds Liam on how he isn't the one who nearly choked on his orange juice when Gordon Ramsay made a spectacularly biting comment.) 

But today Zayn gets a warm pat on the back and a murmured question near his ear for privacy. Zayn nods, reassuring Liam with a brief hug, and shuffles over to the hotel bar for a cuppa. Liam's right - he does look exhausted, bags under his eyes darker than normal, and limbs loose like he had all the spirit shaken out of him. It isn't even like he's been going to sleep late. Really, it was the complete opposite for a reason Zayn isn't quite ready to admit. The longer he sleeps the more glimpses he gets of the color and the more time to lose himself in it. 

It's still there when he closes his eyes in a slow blink, chasing the last bits of sleep away, and Zayn nearly splashes hot water all over himself. He would've if it wasn't for Harry who'd been watching him (wasn't he just eating scrambled eggs at the table over there, seconds ago?) and grabbed the cup before Zayn's clumsy hands knocked it over. Zayn feels himself relax from the warmth and comforting touch of Harry's hand on his lower back, stable and broad, keeping him upright in case he collapses onto the polished floor.

Really, if Zayn wasn't feeling so out of it he'd roll his eyes at him and make some witty kind of comment about Harry being a knight in shining armor. But Zayn doesn't and he even _sounds_ tired with sleep hanging over ever word like a blanket of hot and heavy air. 

"Thanks," he says quietly and leans a little on him. Harry's got deceptively broad shoulders and the subtle height difference makes it easy for Zayn to rest against his side when they're both standing. Sitting is another story because Harry has the tendency to nuzzle at him like an overgrown cat in desperate need of a haircut. Not that Harry needs a haircut because his curls are just so _curly_ and - 

Zayn knows something's wrong when he starts to lose himself in thoughts of Harry's hair.

"No problem mate. You alright?" Harry looks even more worried than Liam does, which is a feat that most of them can't accomplish ninety percent of the time, and he still stays close when Zayn adds sugar to his tea. He doesn't like too much sugar, only a bit for a hint of sweetness, but something in his head's nagging at him like an itch he needs to scratch. Recognition taunts him, tells him he's so close to figuring out what the color is but not yet, and it distracts him to the point where he's added the amount of sugar Harry usually has. 

Four spoonfuls and a squeeze of honey if possible, in case anyone asks.

"I'm fine. Tired." Zayn's curt but he always is in the morning and Harry knows by now. He also knows exactly how much sugar Zayn takes in his tea, what kind of breakfast fare he usually goes for (the raisin scones, sometimes bagels with half fat cream cheese if he's feeling hungry, but usually Zayn doesn't eat anything at in the morning), so he busies himself with making a proper cuppa that doesn't make Zayn's nose scrunch up when he tries to drink it. 

Zayn smiles at Harry to thank him, the kind that's bleary and supposed to be unattractive when it's that early in the morning but Harry smiles back anyways, and he falls asleep on Harry's shoulder when they all pile up into the van. No one notices how Harry holds Zayn's hand and rubs soothing circles into his palm with his thumb the whole time. They do notice, however, how Zayn looks much better after his nap and Liam stops worrying when Zayn hits all his high notes and dumps a bottle of water on Louis's head.

Harry, however, is a different story.

\---

If it's possible to drown in the shower Zayn's pretty sure he would have managed to do so a long time ago. The dreams started up again and he's gotten better at hiding it, hiding his exhaustion and absentmindedness, but he's just fallen asleep in the shower and only woke up because he nearly banged his head on the wall after slipping on the wet tiled floor. The rest is a blur of movement and motions and Zayn can't wait to climb into bed for a good night's rest. Or at least, some sort of rest.

To his surprise he finds Harry on his bed, fast asleep, with the remote clutched in his hand and the telly on to some late night show Zayn doesn't care for. The sight squeezes his heart tight because he knows this isn't the case of Harry finding and sleeping in the wrong bed. Like Goldilocks but brown haired and much clumsier. Zayn can see Harry now, getting comfortable under the covers and wondering why he's taking so long in the shower, glancing over at the bathroom door every few minutes. 

The room service menu is open and splayed on Harry's stomach and Zayn wonders what he wanted to eat. Probably a hamburger with a vanilla sundae to finish it off because that's what he always gets even though he hates maraschino cherries; he forces Zayn to eat them every time and they stain his lips bright red. 

Zayn crawls in bed and curls up to Harry's side because Harry's taken all the blankets and Zayn's hair is still damp and cold against his neck. A mumble from Harry makes it seem like he's awake but it's only him talking in his sleep, and he makes a pleased sort of noise when Zayn's arms flop over Harry's waist to hold him close. When he buries his nose in Harry's curls it's only because the AC is blowing in his face and not because Harry's shampoo smells really nice - like coconuts. 

This time he dreams of tropical islands and inked birds flying across miles and miles of pale legs and knobby knees.

\---

Harry's the one that wakes up on time and shakes Zayn's shoulders gently with his low, sweet, voice dragging him out of his dream world. Louis and Niall are the kind of guys who pull the blankets off and start singing inane songs about waking up, Liam's nicer when it's just them but he makes sure Zayn's at least sitting up by the time he stops nagging, and Harry is Harry. Harry is big hands and soft curls against his cheek as he shakes him gently. Harry never stops talking and Zayn can't fall back asleep because he wants to, needs to, save every little bit of Harry that he can get. He chatters on about the weather, what he dreamed about, stories of his life back home and the people he knew, any stray thought that floats into his mind, and Zayn remembers them all.

Next thing Zayn knows he's laughing at one of Harry's particularly bad jokes and can see Harry's smile without even looking. He can see his lips turn up, soft and slow, in the fond kind of smile that Harry saves for the people he knows and adores. Harry shifts closer to nuzzle his neck, the way he always does, and Zayn feels his bones melt. 

In time, he'll crawl out of bed and realize that he's feeling a bit better this morning and the green is stronger than ever but there are no headaches, no inexplicable ache deep in his chest. In time, he'll go bribe someone into buying a cinnamon bun for him before they leave because Harry said he missed the way the ones from the old bakery smelled when they were fresh out of the oven. In time, he'll move, but for now he holds Harry in his arms and let's his head be filled with him, just him.

\---

A pattern starts up. Zayn start's losing sleep over dreams of pale green, a broad expanse of green ocean water that terrifies him when he jumps in and wakes up right before he hits the surface, droops over his breakfast and shuffles through the day, then Harry finds some way to get into his bed and Zayn cheers up until the cycle starts all over again. It's tiresome but Zayn's starting to think the restless nights are worth putting up with when he gets to wake up with his nose buried in Harry's curls and limbs tangled with his.

The boys don't notice because Harry's always quiet when he sneaks over and Zayn's become good enough at acting fine to fool anyone except for Harry. No, Harry always been able to figure out his mood swings and plow past his neutral expressions and noncommittal answers. Maybe not always because they stepped on each other's toes countless times in the beginning when they first met, when they first tried to understand each other past the superficial judgments they made, and Zayn can pinpoint the time when he realized that there's a depth to Harry past the cheeky smiles and charming quips. 

One night Zayn feels like something's off. Out of sorts, different, like the feather tip poking at him in one of his pillows. Harry's watching the telly again and looks bored out of his mind but comfortable with Zayn's arm slung around his shoulder and covers pulled up to his chin. Zayn leans a little closer, sniffs without intending to, and pauses.

"Did you use my shampoo?" 

The coconut's gone and replaced with the soft smell of aloe and baby powder - like the bottle of Zayn's shampoo that's sitting in the bottom of his bag. Or is supposed to be sitting there if it wasn't somewhere in Harry's room. 

"Yeah." 

Harry looks unfazed and Zayn would've believed it too if it wasn't for how the tips of his ears turn a little pink when he's blushing but really, _really_ , doesn't want to. Did he steal it when Zayn was taking a nap earlier, or when he was hunting for a vending machine to grab a snack to eat? Was it when he was on the phone with his mum, too absorbed in her voice and news from home to notice anyone snooping around? Zayn wonders if it was a spontaneous thing, a spur of the moment urge, or something Harry planned to do the moment he noticed that Zayn keeps the bottle in the same pocket of the same bag.

Instead of asking he just smiles and pulls Harry a little closer, tucks him against his chest and turns so his cheek is resting against the top of Harry's head. Zayn misses the coconuts but he could get used to this. Could get used to Harry smelling like him, carrying around a reminder that - 

That what? Zayn doesn't know, but he doesn't care when Harry's right there, and falls fast asleep in a record breaking two minutes with his lips pressed to his curls.

\---

There are no drinks, no parties, no ceremonies, no fights when it happens. No dramatic spark of attraction (because it's always been burning, been an itch under Zayn's skin for so long he's learned to ignore it), no girls at the club to be jealous of. No dares, no poems, no sudden realizations, no romantic walks on the beach that tell Zayn he's in deep. None of that, just them in bed with the rain falling hard against the hotel room window.

It's a brief one day break between long bus rides and crazy sleep schedules. A time for them to catch their breath and call their loved ones without sounding like absolute shite from exhaustion. Zayn slept in and woke up in the early morning when he heard a familiar voice tell him to budge over in a husky whisper, but fell right back asleep with Harry curled against his back. 

They wake up at 3PM because they can, order room service, and get sticky cherry stains all over the blankets when Zayn tries to stop Harry from stuffing the leftovers of his melted ice cream sundae in his face. Today Harry's switched it up, ordered a grilled chicken sandwich instead, but Zayn still tells him it'll all go to his thighs anyways. Louis and Niall went out shopping and Liam's gone to the gym but Zayn's still in bed by 5PM and isn't ashamed to say he spent the past hour laughing over episodes of overly dramatic Spanish soap operas with Harry. 

Zayn doesn't understand a word but his eyes light up with Harry thinks of hilarious lines to fill in the blanks. He grins when Alexandra slaps Brad because he was secretly in love with the gardener, frowns slightly when Harry sounds a bit too sad at how oblivious Max is to Manuel's advances, and his heart beats so damn hard when he narrates a heartfelt confession ('You're my best friend but I love you, I always have'). The tip of Harry's ears are hidden by his extra messy curls today and Zayn fights the urge to brush them away so he can see if Harry feels as choked up as he does. 

Max's just hooked up with another mysterious woman in a red dress, red lips, long sleek legs, and Manuel's sobbing in his room about how he's lost it all (Zayn's pretty sure it's because Manuel's mother is in the hospital, but they've already decided he's hopelessly in love). Zayn isn't exactly sure on what to do when Harry looks away from the telly and buries his face in Zayn's shirt. So he doesn't think, just _does_. 

"You alright?" 

Zayn inches down until he's face to face with Harry and his voice is as soft, imploring, as the hands pulling Harry off of him so Zayn can see his face clearly. His eyes are squeezed shut and Harry's got that look where he hates himself and wants nothing more than to change how he works, how he thinks, as if he can plunge his hand into his chest and rewire the network of veins and nerves until he's finally happy with how it is. 

"M'sorry, I dunno, something - in my eye," Harry mumbles and lies terribly, trying to rub at his eyes to hide the trace of tears that Zayn's already noticed. 

"Hey, hey." Zayn's hands are busy holding Harry's face close, keeping him from running away, so he kisses the tears away. It makes sense to Zayn, makes sense in his mind, and it's worth the way Harry sniffles a little with his own long fingers wrapped around Zayn's wrists. 

"Look at me, Haz."

Time seems to freeze when Harry opens his eyes, lashes still damp with tears clinging to them, and all Zayn sees is pale green. The green he loses sleep over, the green that fills him with a longing as strong as the one he feels when he misses his family, and all of the puzzle pieces finally fall together. The constant looks, silent conversations made through wagging eyebrows and pursed lips, secrets shared at 4 in the morning when neither of them can't sleep, the way Harry crawled past all his barriers like how he crawled into his bed, the way Zayn looks at him sometimes with promises heavy in his throat. 

But it's wrong, all wrong, the way Harry's eyes are rimmed with red and glossy with tears ready to fall when they should be lit up or soft and hazy, as if someone's kissed the bones out of his body leaving him limp and content, and Zayn can't _stand_ the thought of that someone being anyone else but him. 

So Zayn kisses him and tastes the bit of salt left over from his tears and that's what makes it all the more perfect, Harry's lips so soft and sweet against his, body curling closer and when they part to breathe Harry's pale green eyes are singing, singing louder than his honeyed voice ever could.


End file.
